


Marche Arrière

by bespokenboy



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of War, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bespokenboy/pseuds/bespokenboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh Sehun is dawn and Huang Zitao is dusk, isolated by time and existence until the moment that the sun kisses the moon.<br/>(Benjamin Button!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marche Arrière

Perhaps it was by the omniscient wisdom of some invisible, fateful force that Oh Sehun and Huang Zitao were born on the same day. In fact, they were even born within the exact same hour, in the exact same hospital. But it was almost certainly the cruel whim of some divine trickster that wound the gears of time in reverse so that every step Zitao took was a step in retreat. But Zitao couldn't complain when each footfall brought him that much closer to Sehun- until, for a few delicious paces, Zitao and Sehun were completely in step with each other. Yet however much they longed to stand frozen side-by-side, time moved inexorably forward, pulling Sehun along, while Zitao continued to tick backwards like a broken wind-up doll. 

What a futile war it is to wage when time is the ultimate enemy. 

 

Unlike other babies, Zitao was born sentient. Even more alarmingly unlike other other babies, Zitao was born senescent, with dry papery skin and a patch of pure white hair. The Huangs were shocked to find not a sack of flour-sized infant, but rather a small, elderly gentleman of seventy years crawl out from Mrs. Huang's womb. 

"W-what are you?" Mr. Huang asked with wide-eyed trepidation following the delivery. 

"I'm your baby," Zitao croaked. His father, who had not expected his geriatric infant to possess the gift of speech, fainted promptly. 

In an adjoining room in that same maternal ward, Oh Sehun was pulled into the world, yowling like a kitten. He soon quieted, and his dark, feline eyes traced the perimeters of the room with a startling keenness as though he was observing his surroundings. 

"Why does he keep looking around?" his mother demanded. "What's wrong with him?"

The nurse had no answer, but quickly scrambled for an explanation. "Infants can't see this early on...but maybe his imagination is providing his mind with images? There was a baby girl once who turned out to be schizophrenic and she also-"

"Shhh!" his mother hissed. "Don't say things like that about my son. Especially not when his father arrives."

Startled by the new mother's irritability, the nurse nodded curtly and continued to clean and dress the newborn Sehun. 

Whereas Sehun's parents subjected their newborn to pokes and kisses from their many kin, Zitao's parents were at a loss for what to do with their son. After they took him home from the hospital, they were initially determined to make a bona fide baby out of him. They draped a blanket around his shoulders and suggested that he play with a baby rattle, but Zitao protested with rheumy glares and arthritic tantrums. 

It was difficult for Zitao’s parents to deal with their child as they were unable to decide whether to treat him as an elderly gentleman or as an infant. In fact, Zitao himself seemed unsure of whether to behave as a grumpy old man or as a whiny newborn. He settled for a compromise between the two. 

"Taozi, it's time to take a nap."

"I don't wanna, I'm not a baby."

"...Fine. But please just stay inside, okay, baobei?"

"But I want to play with the other kids!"

More often than not, Zitao's parents gave in to their son with a weary sort of resignation. He played happily with the other children in the neighborhood until word got out that the little old man living with the Huangs was not Mr. Huang's grand-uncle, but rather a freak of nature, an abomination. The rumors were at first dismissed as outlandish slander, but soon the local gossipmongers began questioning little details that had somehow previously escaped their memory. 

For one thing, hadn’t Mrs. Huang been pregnant a few years ago? Wasn’t she rushed to the hospital? Yet nobody had seen the couple return with a baby. A stillbirth could be a tragic, but reasonable explanation...except, there had been no funeral, nor had the young couple gone into mourning. The locals even began to scrutinize Zitao. Why hadn't anyone ever heard of or seen him before? And why did he only leave the house to play with the children? 

The rumors and speculation grew ever more fanciful and bizarre, but none came close to the simple, unbelievable truth. Zitao had been born as a seventy year old man and was growing infinitesimally younger, instead of older, by the minute. 

Elaborate tales were woven around the Huang's mysterious pregnancy and Zitao's recondite past. The more superstitious folk feared that Zitao was a spirit that preyed on children as a punishment for the Huangs' negligence to hold a proper funeral for their stillborn child. But most of the parents in the neighborhood simply feared that Zitao was a predator, and thus forbade their children from coming into contact with him. It was not difficult to convince their children to stay away from the gentle old man. They simply fed their children poisonous half truths and let their youthful imaginations do the rest. 

Children are a special kind of cruel. Rarely do they realize just how potent of a knife they wield with their words. They lash out blindly with mostly glancing blows, but occasionally their blade will catch just the right spot, sliding fatally into a crack in the armor. With a twist of the knife, even the most stoic of men can be brought to his knees. 

"Zitao shushu why do you always follow us around?"

"Nobody wants to play with you!"

"Zitao-ye leave us alone or else we'll tell our parents."

"Get away! Mama said to stay away from you!"

"Is it true that you're a monster that will eat children?"

Although he had the body of a seventy year old at birth, each birthday he reached actually shed a year from his physical appearance. And now, despite outwardly appearing to be a sixty-five year old, Zitao had the emotional fragility of a five year old boy. His arthritic limbs prevented him from running away from the callous remarks, so he staggered back home, rubbing tears from his bleary, baggy eyes. The world did not understand Zitao or his pristine soul and therefore perceived him as a threat, treating him with unreasonable, thoughtless cruelty.

Partially urged on by their parents, the other children teased and bullied Zitao ruthlessly and relentlessly. But as the community grew more and more suspicious about Zitao's identity, the petty cruelty decayed into outright ostracism. By age ten, Zitao looked more like his father's older brother than an ancient uncle, with streaks of black beginning to appear in his hair and some wrinkles smoothing out from his skin. The townspeople became irrationally, irreconcilably afraid of Zitao, and fiercer whispers of witchcraft began circulating the provincial town. 

The only child in the neighborhood who hadn't been forbidden from playing with Zitao was Oh Sehun. And that was only because Sehun's parents simply didn't have the time or energy to take care of their son. 

When Sehun was five years old, he worshipped the ground his father walked on. He idolized his father even when Mr. Oh was too spent to acknowledge his son's existence. Exhausted from working himself to death and bickering with his wife, Mr. Oh rarely spared his son any more words than, "Not now, Sehun." Yet, Sehun persistently tried to earn his father's love and attention, eschewing play dates to read books and practice violin with utmost diligence. But by age ten, Sehun wasn't quite a good enough reason for his father to stick around. 

At first, Sehun could not accept that his father was leaving him behind. As Mr. Oh was tying his shoelaces and zipping up his suitcase, Sehun raced to the front door with his red canvas backpack hastily stuffed with random clothing and snacks. "Let me come with you! Please..." he pleaded. His father merely sighed and lugged his suitcase through the front door. Sehun trotted along, trying to keep up with his father's brisk strides. Mr. Oh didn't look back once to acknowledge his son. Unable to see the exasperation in the grim corners of his father's mouth, Sehun followed him all the way to the bus stop with breathless optimism. 

But when Sehun tried to board the bus with his father, Mr. Oh finally turned around to peer down at his son. 

"Go home, Sehun."

"But- please. Let me come with you, appa!"

"You can't. Just...go back home."

His words were flat and expressionless but they crumpled Sehun's soul and made him feel like he had been tossed away like a piece of trash. His father had never spared him a word of kindness, yet Sehun had always harbored the hope that his father loved him deep down in his stoic heart. 

Tears obscuring his vision, Sehun ran as far as his spindly legs could carry him. He finally stopped by a sandy riverbank, heart pounding in his throat and intestines knotted up by raw, visceral emotions. He gazed forlornly at his reflection in the river. Sehun had his mother's lips, round and pink, as well as her narrow face and frame. But he had his father's eyes- dark, glittering and intelligent. 

Sehun had always aspired to be like his father, highly disciplined and ambitious to a fault. Yet, he never experienced the luxury of his father's love. His skin was beginning to crawl with the creeping suspicion that perhaps Sehun himself was the reason his father wanted to leave. Harder sobs shook his thin body as he watched ripples disfigure his reflection. His tears fell into the river, and like everything else Sehun had given, they too were swept away indifferently. 

Zitao was taking his customary stroll along the river when a solitary figure hunched over the water caught his attention. He approached hesitantly. "Hey," he said gently, kneeling beside the crouching figure. "Are you okay?"

The boy only shook his head, without even lifting his eyes to look at Zitao. He tucked his knees in closer to himself, and Zitao had never seen a more heartbreakingly hopeless looking individual. Even though Zitao knew that touching another person would result in dire consequences for himself if he was caught, Zitao couldn't resist placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. 

He was almost about to withdraw his hand, but the boy finally looked up and gave him a wobbly, but grateful smile. Zitao didn't know what possessed him to open his arms wide, letting the boy eagerly wrap his arms around Zitao's torso in a tight embrace. Zitao's instinct told him to sway gently from side to side and rub soothing circles into the young boy's back. It seemed to calm him down, because soon his shaking and sniffling ebbed away. 

Looking up at Zitao once more, the boy smiled with warm, unspoken gratitude. 

"I'm Huang Zitao," he introduced himself gently. "What's your name?"

"Oh S-sehun."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, even more gently this time. 

The question was met with a tiny shake of the head, and Zitao gave a sympathetic nod. But then the boy said in a quiet, nasal voice, "Not today. Maybe someday... I-if y-you still want to talk to me." He stammered, realizing the implications of his suggestion. Sehun had brazenly assumed that the kind, old gentleman would even want his company, and the young boy soon felt the familiar terror of rejection creep in once more. 

However, Sehun was surprised by the bright smile that stretched across Zitao's face. "Of course I would like to see you again. We can be friends, yes?"

"T-thank you, sh-shushu," Sehun sniffled, lips hesitantly forming the foreign syllables. 

Zitao furrowed his wrinkled brow. "I am not shushu. I am Zitao."

"Zitao-ye?" Sehun asked shyly. 

"Your Chinese is good, Sehun-ah, but I am definitely not 'grandpa.' I am only ten years old!"

Sehun blinked in confusion, and then burst into giggles. "You are so funny, Zitao! Um, I mean shu-"

Zitao stopped him. "Zitao is fine. Really! How old are you, Sehun?"

"I am ten years old."

"Wow, you too?" Zitao exclaimed, causing Sehun to giggle again. "How long have you been ten years old, Sehun-ah? Yesterday was my birthday."

"Yesterday was my birthday too!"

Having found such a remarkable similarity as the same birthday, the two boys stared at each other in amazement. Although Zitao appeared to be decades older than the other ten year old, Sehun found a comforting familiarity in Zitao's warm smile. 

The two kindred spirits quickly and naturally became friends. They relieved the burden of their former solitude by shouldering it together. Sehun was consoled by Zitao's affectionate presence, while Zitao was simply amazed by the wonders of human contact and friendship. Zitao's age became a recurring joke of sorts because Sehun still believed that Zitao was being facetious when he said that he was ten years old. Little did Sehun know, Zitao's insistence that he was Sehun's age was completely sincere. 

Despite the wide age difference and language barrier, it was almost as if Sehun and Zitao were bound by fate to become friends. They enjoyed the same foods, liked to sing the same songs, and they could both find endless hours of amusement in the simple game of rock-paper-scissors. At first their conversations were limited by Zitao’s halting Korean and Sehun’s hesitant Chinese, but they taught each other and soon discovered that even their native languages were not that different after all.

“Sehunnie...what do you call it when something happens, and there’s no reason why it should or should not happen. But it just does, like it has always had to happen. How do you say it in Korean?”

“Ah,” Sehun smiled knowingly. “In Korean, we call it unmyeong. Destiny.”

“Really?” Zitao giggled in delight. “In Chinese, destiny is mìngyùn. Almost the same as unmyeong, just pronounced kind of...backwards!”

At that moment, neither boy realized how fitting it was that their "destinies" were in reverse. 

 

It was years of quiet strolls along the river and hushed conversations on the periphery of the village before Sehun even realized there was anything remarkable about his only friend. Both Sehun and Zitao changed the way the years of their childhood passed by: slowly, one day after another, and then suddenly all at once. Sehun's limbs grew longer and lankier, while his face matured, taking on a perpetually stern expression. In fact, he began to resemble his father more than ever. However, with Zitao by his side, Sehun's flinty eyes crinkled in delight more often in a single day than his father's did in an entire year. 

The years between ten and twenty, much like the years between sixty and fifty, are a transformative decade. Yet, Zitao failed to notice just how grown his Sehun had become until they were physically eye to eye at last right before Sehun left for college, and then medical school. But Sehun, too, missed the minute, everyday changes in his friend. 

Zitao, who had patchy white hair when they had first met, now had a full head of dark, salt and pepper hair. In fact, he looked like he could be his father's healthier, more active twin. He stood completely straight, no longer hunched over by brittle bones. He had the vitality of a twenty year old, despite outwardly appearing to be three decades older. 

"My Zitao," Sehun said in wonder. "If I had not seen your face everyday for the past several years, I would not believe the man standing before me is the same old gentleman who comforted me by the riverbank when I was ten years old."

"Do not worry, Sehunnie. I will always be your Zitao. You may not recognize me someday, but I will always be your friend."

"I hope that we will be able to see each other again before our appearances change beyond recognition..." 

"I think we will. Mìngyùn, right, Sehunnie?"

"Yes, unmyeong."

 

As soon as Sehun left for college, Zitao busied himself by finding odd jobs here and there that required only physical labor as a skill. And when the war broke out, Zitao eagerly took his father’s place, who had been drafted to resume his position as a commanding officer. 

Through the years, Zitao earned his way up the ranks for his dauntless, if not reckless, bravery in battle. Zitao was commended for meeting the enemy head-on with the hutzpah of a much younger man, nothing like the cautious maneuvers of the older generation. Whereas a twenty year old man would be declared stupid and suicidal for the types of moves Zitao made, his outward age and experience deemed him brilliant and bold. Without children or a wife at home, Zitao felt no anchoring to the civilian world. He was simply thirsty for an adventure, and the grit and excitement of war satisfied his craving for a thrill. It was a miracle he made it out alive. 

Sehun hated war. He hated how demagogues and tyrants got into petty squabbles, and the lives of soldiers and civilians alike had to pay the price. As for the lucky (or unlucky) ones that survived, it was Sehun's job to put them back together. Although he was a pediatrician by training, Sehun, too, was called to duty. The army needed as many medics as possible, so Sehun had to abandon his modest clinic in order to perform his national duties. He had been working primarily with children prior to the war, but Sehun found that soldiers wounded in battle sometimes devolved into little more than toddlers, calling out for their mothers with heartbreaking whimpers and cries. 

It was perhaps Sehun’s background as a pediatrician that earned him a favorable reputation within the medical corps. He was far more gentle and compassionate with the wounded soldiers, healing rather than merely treating them. Sehun’s patients had a far greater survival rate and a much more comfortable recovery under his meticulous and nurturing care. Thus, when one of the army’s most celebrated generals was wounded in the field, Oh Sehun was called immediately to take care of him. 

Zitao was in pain, excruciating pain. The middle of his abdomen, where he had been shot, was screaming in agony, and the rest of his body joined in with the physical cacophony. He tried to focus the pain as he had learned how to do while in training. He imagined that the sensations of his body were a flaming candle, and the searing pain of the bullet embedded in his flesh was the white-hot center of the flame. He mentally blocked out all the peripheral sensations until that specific pain was the only thing in his mind. And then he distanced himself from it, perceiving the pain not as a source of corporal torment, but objectively as a physical reaction his body was undergoing. Zitao’s mind game was the only thing keeping him from dying of shock before he could receive medical attention. 

But when his hazy mind discerned a familiar, feline pair of eyes peering down at him with worry, Zitao was almost sure that he already died and had gone to heaven. 

"Sehun?" The word was weak on his lips.

"Shh, it's okay, my Zitao, I will take care of you now. Just close your eyes..."

 

Sehun, who was normally perfectly composed during even the most tricky operations, had to fight the quaver in his hands as he extracted the bullet from Zitao's body. He had been shot point blank from an alarmingly short distance away. If the bullet had penetrated his body a mere few centimeters higher, the gunshot would certainly have been fatal. 

"What were you doing, Zitao?" he muttered to Zitao's sleeping body while trying to clean the ghastly wound. "You are so lucky to even be alive right now."

A nearby officer spoke up in Zitao's defense. "General Huang was leading a direct charge at the enemy. It was an act of utmost bravery-"

"Is this what you call bravery?" Sehun snapped. "This was nothing less than an act of idiocy!"

"Do not speak of a commanding officer with such disrespect! This is the second war General Huang has served in. He has been an upstanding member of the armed forces for over two decades, and he is renowned for his military strategy."

Sehun almost laughed at the dark irony when he put the pieces of the puzzle together. Perhaps General Huang was a wise commander, but Zitao was little more than a boy. 

"Forgive me," Sehun said, inclining his head towards the officer. "I have forgotten how...experienced General Huang is. At his age, a wound like this is morbidly close to fatal. As his doctor, I request for General Huang to be honorably discharged. He has served our country well for so long, and he deserves to make a full recovery for his golden years."

The officer's expression softened. "Of course, I will file your request immediately."

Sehun gave a tight smile and nod in thanks. As he was fitting the last bandages, Zitao began to stir. 

“Sehunnie, is that you?”

The doctor smiled with a shaky sigh. “Yes, Zitao, it’s me.”

“You saved me…” Zitao said in wonder.

“I did.”

“You must be my guardian angel, Sehunnie. Even when neither of us have returned to the village in years, here you are just when I need you.”

It was true. Neither of the friends had seen each other in years, yet that red thread of fate led them to each other once again. Despite the gauze and bandages, Sehun could see that Zitao's skin was no longer pale and fragile, but a gleaming, leathery copper from hours spent under sun. His hair was a lustrous black now, healthy and glossy with only the faintest traces of gray. Sehun saw in Zitao a man just past his prime, with both the weariness of age and experience and a lingering youthful vibrancy. 

"How old are you?" Sehun asked, smoothing Zitao’s hair from his forehead.

"How old are you, Sehun?"

"Twenty-seven."

"I'm the same. But my body is younger than ever. I feel amazing, Sehunnie. Well, I felt amazing until...you know."

"Were you scared, Zitao?"

"How could I be? I was too busy being shot at to be scared."

Sehun shook his head with a resigned smile. That was his Zitao, always too brave for his own good. It wasn’t that Zitao didn’t value his life, it was just that fear did not have a paralyzing effect on him the way it did for most people. Fear did not make him turn around in retreat, either. It was incredible how Zitao faced his fears head on, becoming something beyond human in the process. But despite his mighty spirit, Zitao had to also face the fact that he was only human.

“Zitao, this wound is serious, more serious than you probably think. If it had been just a little bit higher, we would not be speaking to each other right now. You may not have even made it off the battlefield. I don’t know if you realize how closely you brushed death.”

“I shake hands with death everyday, Sehun. It was just a little harder for me to let go of its grip this time.”

“You don’t understand… This is not an injury you can walk away from and pretend everything will be normal again. You will need time, Zitao. Time to fully heal and recover.”

“...What are you saying?” Zitao looked at Sehun in alarm, the jest disappearing from his voice. 

“I requested an honorable discharge for you, Zitao.”

“What?!” Zitao exclaimed in outrage. “Absolutely not. I would be fine with taking a short leave to recover, but I can’t just...quit. This is my life.”

“Shh, don’t overexert yourself,” Sehun said soothingly. “You have done your duty, and you have done it well."

"But my men need me. I can't just run away from them like this."

"Don’t think of it as running away, Zitao. You are not being a coward, you’ve just finished your job.”

Zitao groaned in frustration. “Do you even understand what it means to be a coward? I can’t just abandon my men, my life here. What will they think if their general just left them?”

“I know what it means to be a coward,” Sehun sighed. “I am a coward, I have always been one, my Zitao. I am also being so selfish right now because I…don’t want to lose you. Now that you are here before me, I can’t imagine how it would be if I never got to see you again.”

Zitao opened his mouth to speak, but he could only let out a shuddery breath. "There's something else you don't understand, Sehun. Outside of the army I have nothing. Both my parents are...gone, and I have no home to return to. Even if I do take the time to recover, where do I go? I have nothing and I have nobody. You have always been my only friend, Sehunnie."

"And I always will be your friend, Zitao. Look, my term of duty is almost over. I'm sure they will let me terminate my contract a little bit early if needed to take care of their most prized general. You're not the only one who's been making a name for himself."

Zitao lifted a hand weakly to slap Sehun on the arm. "Hush your face, Sehunnie. Think you're a hotshot?"

Sehun chuckled quietly. "How about it, Zitao? Once you're able to walk again, you can come back home with me so I can help you make a full recovery. And after that..."

"After that, we can figure something out," Zitao finished with a warm smile reminiscent of their childhood days. 

 

It's almost as if Zitao was reliving his nonexistent infancy. He had to learn how to sit up again, how to stand on his own two feet, and how to place one foot in front of the other. Sehun kept a firm, gentle grip on him the entire journey, from Zitao's hospital bed to Sehun's front door. 

Recovery allowed Zitao to breathe peacefully for the first time in years. But the tranquility also magnified the physical and emotional aftereffects of war, without the ceaseless activity of military life to distract him. For the first few nights staying in Sehun's home, Zitao would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, sobbing incoherently about friends who had fallen in battle and the other inexpressible horrors of war. Sehun would immediately rush to Zitao's side and rub comforting circles into his back, dabbing away the tears leaking from his eyes and the blood coughed up from his lungs. And then once Zitao’s eyes fluttered shut and his ragged breathing slowed down, Sehun would warily climb back into his own bed, ready to scramble back to Zitao’s side if needed. 

Zitao appreciated Sehun’s kindness and patience more than he could ever express. But he felt guilty about taking so much of his friend’s time and energy, especially when Sehun had his own clinic to return to. Thus, when Zitao finally felt well enough to function on his own, he packed up his suitcase and was consulting a roadmap as Sehun was returning home from work. 

When Sehun opened his front door and saw Zitao sitting cross-legged with his suitcase zipped up beside him, his heart plummeted. Sehun’s mind was momentarily flooded with flashbacks of red canvas backpacks and buses turning left into the horizon. For a few anguishing seconds, Sehun was no longer a celebrated doctor in his prime years, but a scared ten year old boy about to lose the one person he loved the most. And like that little boy who could not control his blinding tears, Sehun could not control himself when he reached down to tear the map out of Zitao’s hands. 

“Hey! What are you doing-” Zitao exclaimed irritably, but his voice was soon muffled by Sehun, who wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Please don’t go. You can’t leave me.” 

Sehun’s cheek was pressed against Zitao’s, and Zitao could feel Sehun’s warm, shaky breath tickling his ear. And for the first time in two decades, it was Zitao comforting Sehun with low, comforting murmurs, rocking him gently back and forth in their embrace. This time, however, Zitao and Sehun were of the same height, Sehun no longer a little boy and Zitao no longer an old man.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Zitao hummed. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll stay for as long as you need me to.”

“T-thank you,” Sehun whispered with a dry, broken sob.

 

At thirty years old, they were more or less both aging towards the prime years of their adulthood. And soon Zitao and Sehun were physically only a few years apart as they were both reached the midpoints of their lives. 

Having forgone a formal education to pursue his military career, Zitao had little in the way of marketable skills. Sehun's income was more than enough for both of them, so Zitao occupied his days tending and cultivating Sehun’s garden, selling the fresh grown vegetables in the local farmers’ market. It was an easy sort of codependence, Sehun coming home from his clinic to homemade meals prepared by Zitao. It wasn’t long before they reached a point in which neither of the men could imagine life without the other. 

"Do you know what year it is, Sehunnie?"

"1979."

"Aiya, that's not what I meant. You're the doctor, aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

Sehun simply chuckled, without saying a word. He had learned long ago that some things that came out of Zitao's mouth were simply not worth responding to. 

"Anyways, Sehunnie. This is the year we turn thirty-five. Both of us."

"Ah yes, of course, my Zitao.”

"No, you don't understand. When I was born, I was physically seventy years old, and each year I've gotten one year younger...Sehun, this is the one year where we will be the same age...for real..."

"Oh. What do you suggest then?"

Zitao flashed his friend a wolfish grin. "I say that we get married."

Sehun nearly spat out his coffee, making Zitao snort in disdain. 

"I'm serious, Sehunnie," he sang as he sashayed away to get a napkin. "Think about it."

 

It was the middle of spring, three days until their birthday, before Sehun was brave enough to propose to Zitao. He had thought about it, everyday, since the first day of the year when Zitao had mentioned it. Sehun automatically knew that Zitao would expect for him to propose since Zitao liked to be on the receiving end of that kind of thing. It didn't take him months to propose because Sehun was afraid of rejection, especially since Zitao had suggested it in the first place. It was just that Sehun treasured Zitao, his best friend of twenty-five years, and wanted to make sure everything was perfect. 

After several weeks of hunting through virtually every jewelry store within a day's drive, Sehun found the perfect ring for Zitao. It was a slim silver band encircled by a thin trim of diamonds, sleek and elegant just like Zitao. 

But it was several weeks after that before Sehun gathered the courage to propose. He waited for the frost of winter to thaw and the exuberant colors of spring to fully bloom so that he could kneel before Zitao, surrounded by their idyllic green lawn and the exquisite beauty of Zitao's garden. He pulled a navy blue velvet jewelry box out of his pocket and was about to begin his well-rehearsed spiel when he was interrupted by Zitao's silvery laugh. 

Zitao pulled an identical box out of his pocket, except in red velvet. They both opened their boxes at the same time, Zitao kneeling down to be face to face with Sehun. 

"You were taking too long, so I took things into my own hands," Zitao murmured. 

Sehun could only gape at him in dumb astonishment. Zitao rolled his eyes and slipped the ring from his own red box onto Sehun's finger. 

"My answer is yes, Sehun." He grinned smugly and stuck his left hand out for Sehun, who slipped his ring onto Zitao with trembling fingers. 

Their wedding took place three days later, the afternoon of their thirty-fifth birthday. It was a modest town hall affair, with only the minimum of two witnesses and a pastor to complete the vows. Afterwards, Sehun and Zitao danced in their garden all night, long after their dusty old record player stopped spinning. The grass was dewy and pliant beneath their bare feet, while the radiant white moon watched from above like a celestial clock suspended in the sky. 

That night, Zitao and Sehun took turns exploring every inch of each other with gentle touches and caresses, mapping out dips and valleys with soft kisses. And even after they collapsed onto the mattress in exhaust, milk and caramel skin pressed together, Zitao would not relent in his reverent touches. 

"What are you doing?" Sehun mumbled, flushed and radiant from the afterglow. 

"Memorizing," Zitao responded with his lips pressed against Sehun's pale abdomen. 

In that moment they were inextricably one, but like all moments, it too inevitably passed. And soon time and fate pulled their intertwined fingers apart until they could only reach towards each other, fingertips spread out in longing. 

If a year passes by in a blink of the eye, then a decade is how long it takes to open one's eyes in the morning and absorb the halcyon daylight. Their first year of marriage passed by in a blissful blink, and a few flutters of the lashes later, Sehun and Zitao found themselves in the same situation they had been in a couple decades prior. 

For every wrinkle that erased itself from Zitao's face, a new one settled on Sehun's. Whereas Sehun's skin had become dull and fragile, Zitao's was more smooth and radiant than ever. It was getting harder and harder for Sehun's brittle bones to keep up with Zitao's lithe body and his agile movements. Although Zitao would never outwardly show it, Sehun could feel his youthful restlessness. Zitao had spent the first half of his adult years in the military or in Sehun's cottage, living with the discipline and domesticity of a much older man. 

But now that Sehun had reached his own twilight years, it was time for him to let Zitao live out his own youthful adventure. So when he found Zitao sitting by the front door with a suitcase in one hand and a map in the other, Sehun smiled sadly at Zitao and said, "Go on. It's okay. I'll be fine."

Sehun looked forward to the mail everyday since he never knew when Zitao would send a postcard from whatever exotic location he wound up in. Zitao had bought a Polaroid camera so every postcard had a self-taken photo attached to it: Zitao in sunglasses or in baseball cap, making the ridiculous poses of a much younger generation. It always brought a smile to Sehun's face. 

For the first few years apart, Sehun felt no worries. Zitao looked young, but he was mentally more than mature enough to take care of himself. However, once Zitao's face started to take on the slender fragility of teenagehood, Sehun grew more concerned about his safety. The world was not always kind to young people. 

Soon, Sehun began to worry about Zitao's old age, in addition to his young appearance. At first, he wasn't especially uneasy when Zitao mentioned not being able to remember little things like his hotel keys or his wallet. He was growing older, and mental slips were to be expected. But then he received a panicked letter written in shaky, smeared script. 

"Dear Sehunnie,

I forgot what my name was today. The lady at the airport asked me for my name, but I completely blanked out. She giggled, probably thinking I found her too attractive for my brain to function, and I had to check my luggage tag. Sehunnie, I think I'm losing my mind. I'm so scared, what if I forget about you? About us? I'll try to come back home as soon as I can...

Forever yours,  
Zitao."

Even though Zitao was getting younger by the minute, his mind was succumbing to the hardships of old age. After a quick calculation, Sehun realized with an aching dread that Zitao had only a few years left. He hoped with all his heart that Zitao would make it back home before then. 

It was both a blessing and a curse when Zitao showed up on his front porch. After Sehun stopped receiving photos and postcards, he lived with the acute fear that his Zitao was lost for good and that their memories together were lost with him. He almost didn't recognize the little boy with the black mop of hair, holding hands with a police officer on his front porch. 

"Zitao!" Sehun cried, crouching down and holding his arms out for the boy. He ran to Sehun, tiny feet padding softly. 

"Is this your grandson, Mr. Oh?" the officer asked with a warm chuckle. 

"I- yes," Sehun responded, his heart swelling achingly. 

"You better keep an eye on this one. He showed up to the police station, didn't know or wouldn't say anything about where he lived, who was taking care of him. Just said his name was Oh Zitao. We visited every Oh residence in town. You were the only one he displayed any sign of recognition towards."

"Thank you so much, officer. For bringing my Zitao back to me."

"You're welcome, sir. Hope you don't lose your little Zitao again." The officer departed with a cheery wave. Sehun smiled back, trying to keep tears out of his eyes and a shuddering sob out of his chest. 

He pulled Zitao closer to himself and whispered, "Stay with me, okay? I don't want to lose you again."

Zitao only blinked at him in confusion. 

Sehun devoted the rest of their limited days together by caring for Zitao as though he was his child. Like an actual toddler, Zitao passed the benchmarks of early childhood, just in reverse. A year after his return, they could no longer take walks by the river, hand in hand, as Zitao lost the ability to walk. A few months after that, Zitao could no longer sit up on his own. And one fine spring, Sehun could only cradle Zitao in his arms.

Zitao gazed up at Sehun with a newborn face and ageless eyes that spoke of unmistakable wisdom and weariness. And Sehun watched Zitao with vision clouded by cataracts and eyes wrinkled from decades of smiling, his gentle face remaining in Zitao's memory long after their experiences together faded away. Zitao's existence became no more than crying, drinking warm, fragrant milk, and being rocked to sleep in Sehun's arms. 

But soon Zitao was unable to even differentiate one moment from the next. The past no longer existed, evaporating from his memory like a wispy dream. He could only perceive lightness and darkness and vague, indistinguishable murmurings, each sensation immediately dissolving from his memory as if it had never occurred. And then Zitao's vision was plunged into interminable darkness and all he could feel was the steady warmth of large, strong hands and the occasional splash of hot, salty liquid, but soon those sensations too faded from his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." It begins in 1944, when Sehun and Zitao are born. Their marriage is in 1979, when they are both thirty-five, and the ending takes place in 2014, when Zitao turns seventy. "Marche Arrière" means "reverse gear" in French.


End file.
